Moving On
by kate811
Summary: Her last memory of him before today is from 1 year ago, when he towered over her on the Sheffield Mansion stairwell, telling her she was going to end up alone and in rehab. Major character death.


**Author's Note: Warning: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Don't read on if that's not your thing. This is an AU for what could have happened after Dummy Twins. I highly recommend listening to the instrumental from Lost called Moving On. I listened to it on repeat while writing this. If you google "lost moving on" it's the first thing that comes up.**

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><p><strong>Moving On by Kate811<strong>

Her last memory of him before today is from 1 year ago, when he towered over her on the Sheffield Mansion stairwell, telling her she was going to end up alone and in rehab. She thinks this is infinitely worse, as she stares at the closed casket adorned with flowers parked front and center of the church. She doesn't know if she is relieved or not that she showed up late enough to miss the viewing, though actually seeing him would probably make it sink in. Instead she's almost waiting for him to pop out of the box, all part of the ultimate prank to send her over the edge.

She shakes these thoughts away as she tries to pay attention to the eulogy Maxwell is delivering, though words have never been her former coworker's forte. She had always written his speeches for him…though the idea of her writing this particular speech is laughable.

Instead she people watches, taking note that the congregation is made up almost entirely of Nanny Fine's family. She rolls her eyes, assuming this is why Maxwell chose to have the funeral in New York. She rolls her eyes again when she hears one woman wearing a tacky, sequined jacket whisper melodramatically to the woman next to her that it was "such a tragedy."

She doesn't see what is so "tragic" about an older man with a heart history dying in his sleep from a heart attack, but she'll keep her mouth shut. She freezes when she hears the other woman reply that he "died of a broken heart." She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to focus on Maxwell's speech when the mentions of "the blonde, shiksa heiress who ruined poor Niles' life" begin.

She wants to run for the exit, but the eulogy is over and the sad music is beginning to swell throughout the congregation and she remains rooted to her seat, watching as his coffin is carried out, watching as the Sheffield's walk by, clinging to one another as the tears fall freely down their faces, watching as the rest of the guests mumble to one another over whether or not they should go to the burial or just go straight to the luncheon.

Rubbing her eyes exasperatedly, she decides then and there that she'll go to the burial. Someone who actually knows…knew Niles should be there for him, though she doubts anyone there sees her as someone who actually knew him.

She pushes by two elderly women too busy applying fuchsia lipstick and discussing whether or not they'll order the crab cakes or the steak at lunch to give a shit about the man they're supposed to be mourning, and she heads out of the church.

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><p>The burial is much more personal, with most of Nanny Fine's family having skipped it to get prime seats at the luncheon, so CC decides it's substantially better than the funeral, if she were the type of fucked up person to rank the events of funerals. She remembers that at Sara's burial it had been cold and raining. At least Niles had the decency to die in the springtime.<p>

She turns her attention back to the priest, who finishes saying something about ashes to ashes and dust to dust. She watches as the casket is lowered into a hole in the ground and fights back the nausea that overcomes her. It finally hits her. He's gone. Niles is dead.

She takes a shaky breath, willing herself to calm down. She's not going to be the long lost prodigal Broadway producer who bursts into tears at her former employer's butler's funeral and draws attention to herself. It's not her style. She puts her sunglasses back on and follows the line forming to place dirt on the coffin, to symbolically bury Niles.

Somehow she ends up being last, and as she takes a handful of dirt she can't help but almost smile, thinking of how pissed off he'd be if he were here to have to clean up this mess. She lets the dirt trickle slowly from her hands, down into the grave and onto his coffin. The closure she's expecting from the gesture never comes.

She sighs sadly and turns to leave, finding the crowd gone (God forbid anyone is late to the luncheon! Free crab cakes are waiting!) except for Maxwell.

"Hello, CC," he smiles warmly, "it's good to see you."

She bites back any remarks about how 'good' isn't really the word she'd use when reuniting at someone's funeral, because he really does seem genuinely pleased to see her.

"Maxwell," she says softly he envelops her in his arms and she kisses him on the cheek.

"Will you be joining us for lunch?" He asks. Everyone is obsessed with lunch, apparently.

"Somehow I doubt your wife wants me there," She thinks back to the remarks she overheard at the funeral, knowing very well where the yentas had gotten their gossip from. Knowing very well who told them she broke Niles' heart.

Maxwell shakes his head, "Nonsense! Please join us, we'd love to have you!"

"It's okay, Maxwell."

He nods understandingly, "I figured. What about a drink? I have a small office back at the hotel we could go to."

"Maxwell, really, you don't have to do this. Go to the luncheon."

"CC," he says pleadingly, "please. You and Niles have been a part of my life for 20 years. After Sara died, it was you two who kept me going. And now he's gone and I just…"

He looks away, blinking back tears and she grabs onto his hand, for lack of knowing what else to do.

"Okay," she says, clearing her throat awkwardly.

Maxwell gives her the address, squeezes her hand gently, and shoots her a small, sad smile. She wonders if he blames her, too.

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><p>"I can't believe I didn't know about that," Maxwell manages through his hearty laughter.<p>

"Maxwell, we could have paraded a mariachi band throughout the house and you would've been none the wiser," she teases.

"I suppose I _was_ a little obtuse," he admits sheepishly, "but still, a clown nose, CC, really? You're kidding."

"I mean it! He got me to wear a clown nose in some lame attempt to seduce you. I got him to sit in hours of traffic to go pick up Pavarotti at the airport…who had been picked up a few days prior by my chauffeur," She smiles a little at the memory of winning that fight.

Maxwell chuckles again, "Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I'm cursing myself for never having penned a play about the two of you. It would have been a smash hit."

"Come back to Broadway and have at it," she offers.

He smiles wistfully. "You know I'd love to, but the show is doing so well, and you seem to be managing quite successfully here on your own with the Broadway side of things."

She nods thoughtfully, taking a generous sip of the whiskey he had provided. "Do you know what the last thing I ever said to him was?"

"CC," Maxwell starts, though she knows he has no plan for the rest of that sentence.

"You were there, so I know you remember. I told him he was a pathetic excuse for a man. That's it. That's the last thing I ever said to him."

"If I remember correctly, his last words to you were hardly any better," Maxwell counters weakly.

"You're right. He said I'd end up alone in rehab, wondering what could've been." She tips her glass towards the ceiling, in a mock toast to her former…whatever the hell he was.

"CC," Maxwell tries again.

"If I had said yes to his proposals, do you think he'd still be here?" She asks suddenly.

"This isn't your fault, CC. The man had a heart history. There was nothing you could've done. There was nothing any of us could've done," he rubs his eyes tiredly or sadly or both, she doesn't know.

She puts the drink down and paces the room for a moment, willing herself to calm down.

"Did I do this to him, Max?"

"CC."

"I don't even know…it's been a year and I still don't know…" she trails off.

"Know what?" Maxwell asks.

"Why did he propose to me, Max? Was there a will? Did he leave any letters behind?" She has to ask. If her life were as good as a smash hit play as Maxwell had suggested earlier, there would be a letter.

Maxwell shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry."

She sighs, not knowing what else to say. Her life was not a play. Loose ends would not be tied up. There would be no final explanation.

"He loved you very much, CC," Maxwell says with unshed tears brimming in his eyes again.

"Did…did he tell you that?" She asks. Logically, she knows what a marriage proposal means. Hearing those words aimed at her though is an entirely new feeling.

Maxwell nods. "We had a talk not long after we came out to California. He wanted to focus on his culinary studies for a little while and give you time to make it on your own at Sheffield-Babcock Productions without me there in your way. He hadn't given up, CC."

And suddenly she's shaking and she can't catch her breath and her knees buckle and before she knows what's happening, Maxwell is around the desk, his arms catching her as he lowers them both to the ground, holding her from behind as her body is wracked with sobs. She cries for all she's worth as he mutters nonsense comfort words in her ear.

"It's not fair," she says once she's caught her breath.

"I know," Maxwell replies, gently letting go of her as he leans back against the wall. She mimics his actions, sliding herself back to the wall, taking a seat next to him. They sit in silence for a few moments, stretching their legs out in front of them and letting their tearstained faces dry. He holds out his hand. Tentatively, she takes it, expecting him to help her off the floor. She's surprised when they remain seated.

"I better let you go to the luncheon," she says, for lack of anything else to say.

"I do wish you'd join us," Maxwell responds, laughing as she shoots him a pointed look.

She lets go of his hand and moves to get up but stops when another thought occurs to her.

"Do you think…did he know how I felt about him?" She asks.

Maxwell smiles as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small envelope. "It's not a letter, but I thought you should have it. I meant what I said, CC. He never gave up."

Her eyebrows furrow confusedly as she takes the envelope from his hand. She opens it to find a plane ticket to New York City in Niles' name, dated for the day after his death.

"He never gave up," she repeats softly. "Thank you, Maxwell."

She feels the prickle of tears at her eyes again, and Maxwell wraps an arm around her.

"At the rate I'm going, you're never going to make it for the crab cakes," she mutters, resting her head on his shoulder.

Maxwell let's out a watery laugh, stroking her hair soothingly. "Somehow, this seems more important than crab cakes."

She pulls back, a small smile gracing her features. "Thanks again, Maxwell. For everything."

"You're quite welcome, CC." He squeezes her shoulder before letting go, helping them both up.

She grabs her belongings and moves for the door, stopping when he calls her name.

"I stand by my earlier statement. You two have the makings for an excellent story."

She laughs him off and bids him goodbye.

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><p>It's nearly dark when she makes it home to her apartment. She flicks a light on and sinks down into her couch, letting her feet rest on the coffee table.<p>

She pulls his ticket from her suit pocket. All cried out, she merely sighs as she pulls another ticket out from her purse. CC Babcock. California. She thinks about how she'd have been on that plane, if not for the phone call from Maxwell that morning letting her know Niles had passed away in his sleep.

"We make one hell of a pair, Niles," she says to the empty room.

She sits for a little while longer, thinking of the last 20 years of her life. The first time they met. The first time he insulted her. The first time she insulted him back. The first time she got him to laugh. The first time she won a round. Old Time Rock and Roll. Clucking like a chicken. _My baby by my side_. Our Love Is Here to Stay. The first heart attack. _You did come and visit me you old softy_. A Lemon Pledge scented handkerchief on Hanukkah. _Marry me_.

"It's a good story," she murmurs to herself, grabbing her laptop off the table and powering it on.

She opens a word document and begins:

_For Niles. Rest in peace, my Butler Boy._


End file.
